


Lady of the Roses

by garafthel (sister_wolf)



Series: Flowers of Autumn [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/garafthel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a gardener and he is a huntsman, or perhaps she is a Queen and he is a King. Either way, their fates are bound together with that of the great Forest on the far edge of the Wild.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady of the Roses

**Author's Note:**

> In Tolkien's written canon, Thranduil's wife is never mentioned or named. We can only assume that Thranduil had a wife based on the simple fact that Legolas exists. I have taken this opportunity to create a backstory for her and name her Meriliel, which translates to "rose daughter." This is a mixture of movie and book canon and does not take into account the new movieverse canon from The Hobbit: BOTFA.
> 
> [Yvaine](http://remusjohnslupin.tumblr.com/post/109538175853/female-awesome-meme-2-5-females-in-a-movie) from the movie Stardust is my fantasy casting for [Meriliel](http://boromirs.tumblr.com/post/110679281223).

"I beg your pardon, but I appear to have lost my way. Could you direct me?"

Engrossed in pruning the rose bushes along the front approach to the manor house, Meriliel barely noticed the clip-clop of horse's hooves approaching on the road. Now she straightens and squints up at the horseman, unable to see more than a silhouette against the setting sun. "That depends entirely on where it is that you wish to travel, my lord."

"Wish? I would not say "wish," for to travel anywhere that you are not seems a foolish idea to me now." He leaps down easily from his horse and extends a hand to her. "Perhaps my lady of the roses would consent to walk with me a while, so that we may delay the pain of parting when we have only just found each other."

He is tall and very handsome, with sparkling blue eyes and long hair as pale as cornsilk, dressed in simple riding leathers that bear the crest of a neighboring lord. Based on his garb she guesses that he is one of the huntsmen of Lord Oropher, whose lands border her liege lord's land to the west.

She shakes her head at him, laughing. "I have heard too many stories of huntsmen wooing serving girls only to ride off forever, leaving the foolish girl heartbroken, to be charmed by you, good sir."

"Ah, but thus do you admit that you find me charming."

"I admit to nothing except the fact that I am no foolish girl to be so charmed."

"Good, for I would not wish to charm any foolish girl. It seems that I am for a beautiful woman with dirt on her hands. Come, will you walk with me for a few minutes? I mean only to walk, nothing more." He is still holding out his hand to her with his head cocked to the side. The effect is endearing, she has to admit.

She blushes, trying in vain to wipe the dirt from her hands using her skirt. "I'm all over dirt, I couldn't possibly..."

"I am not afraid of a little mud." He wiggles his fingers at her and she gives up on wiping her hands clean, laying her dirty hand in his. His smile lights up his face as if she has given him the greatest of gifts by simply agreeing to walk with him.

It is at this moment, Meriliel later thinks, that she was lost forever.

They meet every evening for much of the spring to take rambling walks through the forest. He brings her a rose every day. Always wild roses, since she chided him the one time he brought her a blossom stolen from her liege lord's rose bushes. 

He does not lie to her about his name, but she has no reason to know the name of the heir of a neighboring lordship. She has fallen irretrievably in love with him by the time she discovers that he is no simple hunter; in fact, he is Lord Oropher's only son and heir. 

She soon forgives him for not telling her that he is a nobleman. Thranduil is handsome and witty, passionate and loving. She never expected or wanted to court a man so high above her status, but it could be worse. The lady of a minor estate such as his father holds is only expected to manage the day-to-day business of the manor house. No one will expect her to be a fine lady of the Court.

Before she meets his father for the first time, she asks Thranduil, "Will not your father be displeased that you wish to wed a gardener?"

He laughs. "Father will be so relieved that you are not a Noldo that you could be a washerwoman's daughter and he would not object."

"Would you still woo me if I were a Noldo?" she asks, biting her lip and looking up at him under her eyelashes. It is a look that inflames him with passion, she has discovered to her great pleasure.

"My love," he says, sweeping her into his arms, "I would still woo you no matter if you were Noldor, Silvan, or even Avari."

"What if I were of the race of Men?" she asks with a teasing smile.

He sighs ruefully and nods to her as if conceding a point. "Yes, even if you were a mortal, I would still love you."

"What if I were a Dwarf?"

"Now you are simply being ridiculous for the fun of it." She giggles and he kisses her smile, murmuring between kisses, "My lady of the roses, my Meriliel."

They are wed the following spring and settle into married life in Oropher's manor. It is a happy time for both of them. Thranduil shirks his duties to spend time with his new wife; his father, indulgent with his only child, allows it for the most part.

She is intimidated by Oropher at first. He is strikingly handsome and very tall, with an air of effortless command. Though he can be strict, he is affectionate with his son and kind to his daughter-in-law, and she soon comes to love him as a second father and forgive his occasional harshness.

They live in happiness for many years among the fertile fields and green woods of Oropher's fiefdom. The only blot upon that joy is that even after decades of marriage she has not become pregnant. She frets about it, worrying that she is failing in her duties as the heir's wife. Thranduil is endlessly patient in reassuring her that he will always love her. He tells her that if the will of Eru Iluvatar is that they will remain childless then they will accept it; it could never make him love her any less.

She is never sure what precipitates Oropher's decision to leave their comfortable lands and relocate their entire household to the Wilderlands beyond the Misty Mountains. She knows he has been becoming increasingly unhappy with what he sees as Noldor influence upon Sindar culture. But whether there is a final incident that decides it for him or it is simply due to the slow accumulation of frustration and resentment, one day Oropher announces they will leave everything they have ever known behind and move to the far side of Middle Earth in search of a simpler, more natural way of life.

She and Thranduil have their first argument over this. She does not want to leave her homeland and her family. He feels that Oropher's decision is wise and it is his father's right to move them. She never truly agrees, but she eventually gives in to the inevitable. They will journey far across the Misty Mountains and settle in the great forest in the East.

Greenwood the Great is an old forest, possibly the oldest in Middle Earth, and it is already inhabited by Elves. She thinks at first that their new neighbors are Avari, so primitive and barbaric do their ways appear to her. They eventually learn that their new neighbors are Silvan Elves; they are Elves of the Twilight, just as the Sindar are. Their ways are very different, but she tries to accept them as they are and not expect them to behave like fully civilized Elves. 

Centuries pass in the Greenwood. Oropher slowly solidifies his lordship over the Silvan Elves, not by brute force or conquest but through the use of his substantial charisma and political acumen. He is eventually crowned King of their mixed nation of Sindar and Silvan Elves.

The gardener who once feared the expectations levied upon the wife of a minor lord is now the wife of a Prince. She secretly prays to Iluvatar that she will never become Queen.

But it is not all bad. Meriliel slowly comes to love their new home, fierce and uncompromising in its dangerous beauty. Thranduil is still her charming, passionate beloved, and they are happy together for thousands of years under the boughs of the Greenwood.

Then the war comes and everything changes.

Thranduil must go with his father, of course. She begs him not to go, not to leave her, but he is resolute. Oropher marches to war with Thranduil and thirty thousand warriors and she is left in command for as long as they are gone. 

The Princess who was once a gardener is now Queen in all but name of a kingdom beyond the edge of the civilized world. She struggles to apply everything that she has learned from her years of observing Oropher's diplomacy in order to keep their kingdom from falling into chaos.

She manages, barely. Leadership does not come easily to her, but she somehow keeps their Silvan subjects from open rebellion against the crown and harangues the Sindar nobility into making a few concessions. It is never solid, but it holds together well enough.

Then the leaders of a few of the Silvan clans who have never sworn allegiance to Oropher come to her with a proposal. They will not declare fealty to the Woodland Realm or give up sovereignty over their lands, but they will swear an alliance of mutual aid against the Easterlings who encroach upon the eaves of the forest and the Orcs who raid the forest from the mountains. 

She knows that Oropher would never have agreed to an alliance between equals instead of an oath of fealty from the independent Silvan clans. But when he marched away with the bulk of their army, he left her in charge of a kingdom barely able to protect itself from the usual depredations of the Orcs, much less the growing threat of the Easterlings. 

Meriliel accepts the alliance. As the years pass, she develops a level of mutual trust and cooperation with the Silvan leaders that Oropher had never managed--or perhaps, bothered to--in all his years of ruling the Woodland Realm. She knows it is not how he would have gone about it, but she thinks that their realm is far stronger for it.

Thranduil returns after almost ten years leading a bare handful of the army his father Oropher led to war. She does not yet know the true scope of the tragedy as she runs down the hallway to the front gates to await the arrival of the vanguard which has been spotted by Forest Guard scouts.

The Forest Guard is part of her agreement with the Silvan clans: a force of mixed Silvan and Sindar troops, both men and women, led by a Silvan warrior. They wear the simple leather armor and silk garb the Silvans favor rather than metal armor and carry bows and knives instead of swords and pikes. They have sworn their loyalty to the Woodland Realm, but Meriliel is well aware that the amount of latitude she has given the Silvans may not please Oropher now that he has returned from war.

Thranduil leads a column of weary-looking and travel-stained warriors to the gates of the palace. She waits at the gates to welcome him, surprised when she does not also see Oropher at the head of the column. He must be riding with the bulk of the army, she thinks. It does not even occur to her that this might be all that remains of their army of thirty thousand warriors.

Her worries fade away under the excitement of seeing her beloved husband again. She waits impatiently for the column to come to a halt before stepping forward to declare in a carrying voice, "The Woodland Realm welcomes its brave warriors home again." The crowd gathered behind her, easily half the population of the palace, cheers loudly. She smiles as she holds her hands out for Thranduil to take, expecting him to sweep her into a kiss.

He approaches quickly enough but does not even take off his helmet before lifting one of her hands to brush against the cold metal in a mere sketch of a kiss. There is something ominous about the figure he presents in the helmet, which covers his entire face save for narrow slits for his eyes and mouth.

"My husband and Prince, I give you welcome. Is your father the King in the rearguard?"

"The King has fallen in battle," he says evenly. There is no trace of grief in his voice, though she knows how greatly he loved his father.

"The King is dead! Long live the King!" she declares, barely hearing their subjects as they repeat the traditional phrase. Thranduil still does not remove his helmet even as he turns to accept the cheers of their subjects. She wants to ask him what is wrong, what happened during the years that they were gone, but such questions will have to wait until they have privacy.

It seems such a moment is never to come, for Thranduil disappears to his rooms before the feast that will be held that night to welcome their warriors home. She paces her rooms, wondering if she should go to him. Why is she so uncertain? Is he not her husband and her love? Something is terribly wrong, she thinks.

Making up her mind, she walks down the short corridor to the door to his rooms. "My love?" she calls after knocking at his door. There is a long pause before Thranduil responds.

The first thing she notices upon entering his room is that the lamps have all been turned low. Thranduil is sitting in a shadowy corner of the room with his profile facing towards her.

"Will you join me at the feast, my husband?" It feels strange to be so hesitant in his presence when this is a moment she has imagined for so many years: her husband safely home and the two of them together again. At least he has finally removed his helmet.

"I will join you anon," he says without turning his head to look at her directly.

She hesitates near the doorway and then ventures further into the room. "My love, what is wrong?" She crosses the room to him, trying not to feel hurt when he turns his face further from her. "Why will you not look at me?"

"I was wounded in the battle where my father fell. It is still...less than pleasant to look upon and I have not yet mastered the glamour that will hide it entirely."

"I do not care. Just look at me, please."

"Are you certain that you really want to see?" he whispers, the side of his mouth turning down into a bitter frown. 

"Of course I do. I love you, Thranduil. Injury will not change that."

Despite her brave words, she cannot restrain a gasp of horror when Thranduil turns to face her and she sees the extent of the damage.

His left cheek is a red, oozing crater, the skin and flesh burnt away to reveal muscle and bone. She feels faint as she notices that his left eye is entirely white, blind and staring emptily.

Thranduil laughs harshly and turns his face away. "So much for that." His voice drips with bitterness. "Even my lady wife is unable to bear the horror that war has made of me."

"What happened?" She can barely recognize her own voice.

"The Enemy had many horrors in his army. Orcs are the least of them. Trolls, werewolves, spiders twice the size of a warhorse...but worst of all were the dragons."

"Dragons? But there are none south of the northern mountains...are there?"

His mouth twists bitterly. "My face stands as testament that there are some of that foul breed still south of the Grey Mountains. A great, black-winged worm spewing gouts of flame that burned everything in their path. Men and horses, burned. Our brave warriors, burned. My father..." he trails off. "My father burned."

She is barely aware of making a faint sound of distress.

"As for this?" He touches a finger to the edge of the damaged flesh. "This was the bare edge of its flame touching my flesh but for an instant. Just an instant, and now look at me. A monster. A death's head." 

"You are not a monster," she cries, lifting her hands to him imploringly. "I love you, Thranduil. Scars cannot change that. They do not change who you are."

"A pretty sentiment." He turns his face away from her again. "But the look in your eyes betrays your true feelings."

"I was taken aback at first, that is all! It pains me to see you wounded so terribly."

He laughs mirthlessly. "Leave, and take your empty words with you."

"My love..."

"I need time and privacy to master the glamour that will hide my ruined face."

"You do not need to hide from me--"

"Leave me!"

Tears slip down her face and she tastes salt when she bites her lip. "Very well," she whispers. She shuts the door quietly behind her and hears a wordless shout from Thranduil's room followed by the sound of glass shattering.

Holding a hand to her mouth to muffle her sobs, she hurries away down the corridor.

Thranduil stays locked in his rooms for several days, missing the welcome feast. When he emerges there is no sign of the terrible scarring on his face. His glamour is absolutely flawless. She could almost forget that damage is there under the glamour, except that the sight of it is burnt into her memory.

Thranduil settles easily into his role as King, proving to be just as natural a leader as Oropher had been. On the surface, he seems unchanged. But he is colder and harsher than he had been before the war. 

Though Meriliel had always told herself that she hated being in charge and would be happy to give up rulership, it is difficult standing to the side and watching as Thranduil tears down some of the agreements she has spent sleepless nights setting up. He does not understand why she has given the Silvan clans more autonomy and they quarrel over the issue. It is the second time they have ever argued. It is far from the last.

He is not the boy that she remembers and she is not the girl he left behind as he marched to war. They have both grown harder in almost a decade apart, forged in the crucible of war and politics. He is harsher, more autocratic. More like his father. For her part, she has forgotten how to smile prettily and keep her mouth shut while the men make decisions. 

Soon after returning from the war, Thranduil moves the seat of their kingdom north of the Mountains of the Greenwood to a new citadel. Claiming that it will be far more defensible than his father's fortress at Amon Lanc, he has chosen to excavate and extend a natural cave system. It is very beautiful, as open and airy as a palace built underground could possibly be, and she hates it with every fiber of her being. Meriliel escapes from the palace every chance that she can get, wandering under the trees of the Greenwood and delaying returning to their underground citadel for as long as she possibly can. Her distaste for the new palace is the cause of more than one argument between them.

They argue as passionately as they make love during this period, expressing with their bodies the feelings they are unable to say aloud. Meriliel has accepted for thousands of years that Eru Iluvatar will never grace them with a child. Fate, like the fickle beast that it is, chooses this time as their marriage is falling apart to bless them with a child.

Her pregnancy does not magically repair the rifts in their marriage, but it distracts them from their anger and for a while they can almost forget that they have been at odds. They silently agree to a cessation of hostilities when their son makes his way into the world, red-faced and squalling.

They name him Legolas, _greenleaf_. She delights in taking Legolas into the forest on long walks. The trees come to love him just as she does, this beautiful son of the Greenwood.

For a time after Legolas is born, she and Thranduil manage to keep the peace. It even seems that the cracks in their marriage might heal in time. In a grand peacemaking gesture, Thranduil builds a summer home for her a day's ride north of the new palace. 

As proof that he has actually listened to her complaints about living in an underground fortress, the summer home is an open and airy manor house surrounded by vast rose gardens. She and Legolas spend many happy summers there while Thranduil stays behind to run the kingdom. Meriliel will admit (if only to herself) that she does miss her husband while they are apart. Were it not for that, she would be happy to live at the manor all year round rather than simply spending the summer months there.

Legolas grows so quickly. It seems that it is barely a score of years between his first hesitant steps and his coming of age ceremony. She had hoped that he would use his love of music to frame his coming of age challenge. Legolas has always loved the epic ballads; the songs of Luthien and Beren are his favorites. Her little bard, she called him. 

Instead he chooses an orc hunt for his coming of age challenge. Legolas's joy at his father's approval of his choice is clear. Meriliel buries her disappointment deep, so that her son will not see it when he looks at her. Her little bard has become a warrior. He will follow in his father's footsteps, not forge his own way as she had once hoped.

She tries, but she cannot be happy for Legolas when he returns victorious with the broken spears and swords of the Orcs he has slaughtered. They are creatures of the Enemy of course and she does not mourn for them, but she does mourn silently for the innocent little boy who used to sing nonsense songs to her roses.

Time marches on. Slowly, so slowly that afterwards she is never sure when the change became inevitable, the Greenwood turns dark and twisted. There is a sickness blighting their forest. Strange, monstrous creatures infest their lands. There are no more carefree strolls among the green leaves as she and Legolas used to make their habit when he was young. 

Greenwood the Great is now known to all as Mirkwood, the dark and dangerous wood.

Dwarves settle in the Lonely Mountain and soon Dwarven crafts flow from Erebor to Dale and from thence to the Woodland Realm. Thranduil disdains the Dwarves and calls them barbaric and uncultured, but Meriliel remembers when their Silvan subjects seemed barbaric to her and reserves her judgment. It saddens her when Legolas, eager to emulate his father in all ways, picks up his father's prejudice against the Dwarves.

Legolas visits her when he can, but his squad of Forest Guards are often gone for weeks at a time as they patrol deep within Mirkwood. It is on one such patrol that they come across a young Silvan girl who is the only survivor of an Orc raid. The rest of her clan lies slaughtered and they are far from any other Silvan settlements. Legolas brings her back to the palace for lack of any other options.

Elves rarely have children during their long lives and as the Greenwood has darkened that has become even more true. For the Elves of Mirkwood, children are a rare and precious gift. There is no question that the orphaned girl, Tauriel, would be fostered and cared for, but Meriliel allows herself an act of selfishness in this. Legolas is a grown man and it appears clear that the Valar will never grace them with the miracle of a second child. She cannot adopt Tauriel, for to adopt her would make her part of the royal family, but she can and will raise her as the daughter she never had.

Thranduil is at first utterly disinterested in the child, seeming to consider her something on the level of an orphaned kitten that his wife has chosen to take in. But as Tauriel grows she develops a bright, fierce spirit and avid curiosity about everything around her that even Thranduil is unable to resist indulging. 

At Midwinter when Tauriel is six or seven, she finds the two of them riding through the forest on Thranduil's great Elk. In his winter crown of ivy and holly and a cloak of deepest green, Thranduil is a sharp contrast to the the small, fiery-haired girl riding before him bundled up in white furs and red woolen mittens. Tauriel points out a bird in the trees above them and his gentle smile deepens as the girl chatters away in her childish wonder at the world. Meriliel lingers in the shadows of the trees watching for a while before she joins them. Her heart aches at this brief glimpse of how her husband would have been if the Valar had blessed them with a daughter.

But Tauriel is not, after all, their daughter by blood. As she grows older Thranduil pushes Tauriel away, holding her at a distance so that she will not forget her place. Tauriel accepts this as she accepts everything, with a stoic spirit and head held high. It saddens but does not surprise Meriliel that Tauriel pulls away from her too as she grows into womanhood. Meriliel is grateful that even as the distance grows between them, Tauriel and Legolas become closer. He invites Tauriel to join his Forest Guard squad and they quickly become inseparable, facing all of the dangers of the deep forest together.

Meriliel watches them whenever their squad returns to the palace but she does not see signs of anything closer than friendship between Tauriel and Legolas. Tauriel has become a beautiful woman, despite the bright red hair and large ears of her Silvan heritage. It is a pity that she and Legolas only appear to hold each other in sibling-like affection, Meriliel thinks. She is brave and compassionate, a worthy match for Legolas. A marriage between Thranduil's heir and a Silvan Elf would do much to solidify the union of their two peoples in the Woodland Realm. It is hardly like Thranduil could object to the match when he himself had chosen to wed a commoner. But to Meriliel's disappointment love never blooms between Tauriel and Legolas.

Meriliel and Thranduil keep a distant but cordial relationship during this period. They see each other at dinner and occasionally she accompanies him to evenings of feasting and music held in the safer areas of the forest. It is not much, but it is a peaceful sort of existence.

Then Thranduil goes on a diplomatic visit to Erebor and returns to Mirkwood in a towering fury over a broken trade agreement. He rages for days, threatening to declare war on the Dwarves.

She knows that he will not really declare war over a broken trade agreement. (At least, the Thranduil that she married would never--but the hard, angry King that he's become just might, part of her whispers in the darkest hours of the night.) She gratefully takes the excuse of the days and nights warming to travel north to the summer manor. She is avoiding her husband, yes, but she has found that sometimes avoidance is the best way to keep the peace.

Over the centuries of Greenwood's darkening her manor has developed defenses on its own, growing a wall of roses around the periphery of its land. A wall of roses might not sound very impressive, but this is a wall easily thirty feet tall and armed with foot-long thorns which seem to possess a kind of vegetative intelligence. Meriliel and her servants pass through the wall unchallenged, but Orcs and Giant Spiders are entirely unable to cross the wall of roses. She thinks the roses might eat their corpses, but it is impossible to catch the wall in the act. 

Meriliel shrugs philosophically and accepts that in this as in many other things, the forest has a mind--and a magic--of its own.

The summer passes quickly and as the cool winds of autumn arrive, she lingers on well past the date she would normally return to the palace. It is not as if Thranduil will mind--or perhaps even notice, she thinks with a tinge of self-pity.

Angry and hurt by what he sees as her punishing his father, Legolas comes to speak to her after the first light snowfall of the year. He paces back and forth in front of her favorite bench in the garden for several minutes until he bursts out, "Father is not being unreasonable. The Dwarves broke their trade agreement with us."

"I understand that, but a broken trade agreement is no reason for threatening war. I do not understand your father anymore, Legolas."

"It is not just about a trade agreement."

She sighs. "Then what is it about, pray tell?"

"Father said that the Dwarves mined pure white stones, like starlight in the form of a gem, and they had agreed to craft them into a new crown for you. That is the agreement they broke for no other reason than to be petty."

She touches the simple circlet made of white gold in the shape of twining vines and roses that she has worn for thousands of years, as Princess and now as Queen. It was a gift from Thranduil just after they relocated to the Greenwood. It reminds her of happier days, thin and worn through though those memories are now. "A new crown? Why would he think that I would want such a thing?"

"He said the crown you wear now was made for a Princess, not for a Queen. You deserve something grander."

"I have never wanted anything grander than what I have. If your father knew me at all, he would know that." Perhaps she is not the only one in this marriage who does not know who she is married to anymore.

She can see that this is hurting Legolas though, and that is the last thing she would ever want to do. She returns to the palace and quietly settles back into her mostly solitary existence. She still loves Thranduil--she could never stop loving him--but there has been little joy in that love for a very long time.

Then the Dragon comes, and everything changes again.

Thranduil is a harsh King but he has ever been honorable. Meriliel almost cannot believe the news when her handmaiden tells her that the King has denied aid to the survivors of the destruction of Erebor and Dale. Her heart drops to the floor at the news that the borders have been sealed against any who would seek to take refuge within them. 

She forces herself to walk with slow and stately grace to Thranduil's council room rather than picking up her skirts and running like the commoner girl she had once been.

Thranduil is too distracted to notice her entering the room as he stands at a table tracing a line on a map and giving orders to his captains. She knows all of his captains and would normally have a word of greeting for all of them, but she is stretched thin with anger and cannot concentrate on social niceties. She barely notices that Legolas and Tauriel stand to the side, apparently awaiting Thranduil's orders.

"I heard that you are sealing the borders," Meriliel says bluntly to the top of Thranduil's bent head. "Is it true?"

He barely glances up at her. "It is nothing to concern yourself with."

"Is it true?" Her voice breaks, echoing against the cold stone.

"You heard correctly." He straightens and looks at her, his eyes cold and blue as shadows on snow. "There is much to be done. I will see you at dinner."

"Why would you do this? Why would you seal our borders against our allies?"

The soldiers and servants are pretending not to listen, but she can tell that they are soaking up every word. Court gossip is as quick as it is vicious.

Thranduil folds his hands behind his back. "Dale and Erebor are no more. The old alliances we had with the Kings of Dale and Erebor are no longer binding."

"There are wounded and children out there. We could give them shelter--"

"They are no concern of ours."

She almost cannot believe her own ears. "Has it truly come to this? Are we capable of ignoring the desperate plight of those less fortunate than us simply because they are of a different race?"

"That is _enough_ ," Thranduil snaps in a tone he has never used with her before. "I will speak to you later."

She feels as if the comfortable blinders of use and affection have been stripped from her and now she sees him as he truly is. Not her joyous laughing boy of spring mornings in the fields, not even her stern but fair King of summer days in the Greenwood. The summer leaves have all fallen and the bitter winds of autumn have come. Their love is a dried-up rosehip rattling on a bare and thorny cane.

Meriliel gathers every inch of dignity she possesses as she replies, "I am your wife and your Queen, not a serving wench to be dismissed. I will leave when I please."

His voice drops to a vicious snarl. "Then will it please you to go now?"

She feels as if she is floating, so angry that she has passed through fury into a place of terrible calm. She feels the words dropping like stones into a still pond as she answers, "Aye, go I shall, but do not think that I shall return."

Thranduil says nothing, staring at her with opaque blue eyes.

She turns on her heel and leaves. The heels of her shoes tapping on the floor is the only sound that can be heard. 

She maintains her calm until she reaches her solarium, a crystal-roofed indoor garden with a lovely little fountain surrounded by flowers and small trees. It has always been her sanctuary, a place for her to retreat from the pressures of Court life. She picks up a delicate vase, a beautiful work of art in swirling shades of jade and copper. It was a gift from Thranduil at Midwinter some years ago. She weighs it in her hand for a moment, and then she turns and hurls it at the wall. It makes a very satisfying sound as it shatters.

Two more glass vases follow in quick succession and then she whirls and picks up a heavy ceramic planter, throwing it with no care for where it lands. Planters, pots, urns, all fall victim to her wrath. She has another vase poised to throw when her rampage is interrupted by the sound of a raised voice from the entrance to the solarium.

"Your majesty!" Tauriel stands at the door looking horrified by the destruction wrought upon the garden.

Meriliel slowly lowers the vase in her hand, blinking as she takes in the damage. 

Barely a single plant remains that has not been injured in some way. The careful result of years of nurture has been destroyed in the course of a few minutes. She falls to her knees, trying to right the carved planter which housed the orchids that Thranduil had imported for her from far Ithilien. Tauriel kneels next to her and tries to help, but Meriliel can already tell that many of the most delicate plants are far too damaged to salvage.

She cannot control the bitterness in her voice as she asks, "Shouldn't you and Legolas be out turning away refugees at our border with the rest of the guards?"

"The King is still speaking to Prince Legolas about our new duties. He has assigned our company to guarding the palace for the time being," the girl says evenly. "He does not want the prince to be outside of the palace while the dragon might yet take wing to attack the Woodland Realm."

Meriliel had not even considered the possibility that the dragon might not be satisfied with the Mountain King's treasure hoard. Her stomach turns as she imagines their forest in flames, the delicate carvings of the bridges and gates of the palace crushed under a dragon's clawed foot, their people crying out in fear as they flee for their lives.

Then she imagines their people fleeing to a neighboring kingdom that has ever been their friend and ally and being turned away at the gates like beggars.

"How can he justify this? How can he not see that this is wrong?" What has happened to the man she once loved? Still loves, to her sorrow.

Tauriel looks terribly uncomfortable as she pretends not to see that Meriliel is on the verge of weeping. 

Meriliel calms herself with an effort. "The answer to the question you have not yet mustered up the courage to ask is yes." She closes her eyes, tasting the truth in her words as she says, "Yes, I truly am leaving the palace and I do not plan to return." Opening her eyes, she realizes that she feels better for having said it aloud. 

Tauriel opens her mouth as if to speak and then hesitates.

"Speak, child." Meriliel dusts potting soil and shards of ceramic from a garden bench and sits down, patting the seat beside her invitingly.

Sitting on the bench beside her, Tauriel opens her mouth, closes it again, and visibly gathers the courage to ask her question. "But--you plan to sail to the West, do you not? How can you leave Legolas behind? How can you abandon--" Cutting herself off, she flushes dull red and drops her eyes. "Please forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty."

"Oh, Tauriel. Once you did not call me by my titles. Do you not remember?"

Tauriel bites her lip, meeting Meriliel's eyes hesitantly. "I remember."

"Then come here." Meriliel holds her arms out. Tauriel hesitates for a long moment, looking torn, before leaning into her as she did when she was a child. Meriliel pets her hair as she says, "Your worries are unfounded, child. I do not plan to sail. I would not willingly leave Mirkwood. This forest is my home, for all that I was not born here. You know of the manor to the north where I spend the summers? Thranduil gifted that manor to me when he had it built. I will retire there and live out the long years in peace and tranquility among my roses."

"But what of Legolas?" 

"Legolas is a grown man. He has his father. And he has you as well." She smiles down at Tauriel, remembering the bright, inquisitive child who used to demand to know the _why_ of everything. "Tauriel, I would ask a favor of you."

"Anything. You need only ask."

"Be Legolas's friend. Be there for him when I am gone. That is all I would ask of you." Her heart aches at the thought of the long years ahead of her alone, but this is what she needs to do. If she stays here, she too will become someone she doesn't recognize anymore.

Tauriel smiles a little uncertainly. "You do not even need to ask. Legolas is my best friend."

"I know, my little fire-girl. But I had to ask anyway."

Her voice is very quiet as she answers, "You haven't called me that in a very long time."

Meriliel closes her eyes, feeling exhaustion sweeping over her. "I failed you, Tauriel. I am sorry for that."

Tauriel pulls away, frowning at her. "You did not fail me. You raised a foundling Silvan Elf as your own when no one would have blamed you for sending me away or simply letting the cooks and the maids raise me." Her voice gentles as she repeats, "You did not fail."

There is the quiet scuff of a boot at the entryway. Tauriel leans in for one last fierce hug before getting up and hurrying to the doorway. She pauses briefly by Legolas before leaving but whatever she says to him is too quiet for Meriliel to catch.

Legolas turns as Tauriel walks away and raises his hand halfway, then lets it drop. His face resigned, he drops his chin and sighs silently, then turns to meet Meriliel's eyes.

Meriliel opens her arms wide and says, "My little leaf." 

Legolas drops onto the bench beside her and wraps his arms around her. She pets his hair and shushes him, rocking him in her arms as she did when he was a child and had nightmares. "I am not sailing to the West. I promise, I am not leaving forever."

He seems to abruptly remember that he is no longer a child, pulling away and blinking hard as he stares down at his hands folded in his lap.

"But you are leaving."

"Yes." 

"Where are you going?"

"Just to the summer manor, my darling. Not so very far away."

He looks relieved for a moment and then scowls down at his hands. A muscle in his cheek ticks. "Why are you leaving? Is it just this matter with the Dwarves, or--"

"This matter with the Dwarves? You mean the matter where we have denied aid and succour to our allies in their time of greatest need? The matter where we are turning away those who have come to us for refuge? That matter?"

"Father knows what he is doing."

"And I am sure that is great comfort to the refugees of Dale and Erebor as they are turned aside at our borders. No, Legolas. I will not excuse his actions." She shakes her head, staring blindly at the wreckage of her private sanctuary. "It is not just this matter with the Dwarves, though this is the worst that he's done. Your father and I have been growing apart for centuries. Sometimes I wonder if the darkening of the Greenwood has somehow affected us, its King and Queen. But perhaps that is just an excuse."

Legolas's voice is very quiet as he asks, "Do you hate him?"

Meriliel closes her eyes and laughs painfully under her breath. "I love your father. I always will. That is the worst part," she explains, opening her eyes. "Loving someone even as you watch him become someone you do not know. Someone who makes decisions based on petty anger or fear rather than reason or compassion."

Though admittedly, she has ever needed to point out the compassionate path to him. It is not something that comes naturally to Thranduil.

His chin firms mulishly. "Father's decisions are based on what is best for the Woodland Realm."

"Perhaps that is true. But there are things in this world more important than the security of our own realm."

"I don't understand."

"I hope someday you will. Legolas, I do not make this decision lightly, but I feel that it is best for all of us. And I shall not be more than a day's ride away. You can come visit me."

"If Father allows it."

"He will." Meriliel cups her hand around Legolas's cheek, urging him to turn his face to look at her. "I promise you, he will not forbid you to visit me. Your father and I may disagree but he loves you. All right?"

Legolas tries to smile. "All right."

It is hard, so hard to leave her son behind, but she cannot stay. In time perhaps Legolas will understand, and forgive her.

Part of her expects a scene when she tells Thranduil she is moving to the manor house for good. Perhaps part of her even hopes for it; anger would be better than the cold indifference she receives instead. They discuss the travel arrangements as civilly as if she were leaving for a long summer stay at the manor rather than setting up a permanent separate household, leaving Meriliel with a feeling of numb unreality.

It would be tempting to change her mind and go back on her decision, except that she has seen the reports of the damage to Dale and Erebor. Instead of hiding behind their walls, they could have helped. Not even a Dwarven army was enough to defeat Smaug, it is true, but the death toll caused by injury, exposure, and starvation after the initial attack could have been minimized. She does not blame Thranduil for choosing not to challenge the dragon. What she blames him for is choosing to do nothing at all.

The morning that she is to leave for the manor house, Thranduil asks her politely but distantly if she will walk with him outside the walls of their palace while the servants prepare for the journey.

The rising sun burns the fog away and glitters from the dewdrops, sparkling on every leaf and twig. In the crisp, clean air of autumn, it is almost possible to see the Greenwood that was--beautiful and wild, ancient and pure. Her heart aches for all that they have lost.

Thranduil walks with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bent in thought. After long minutes of walking in silence, he asks without looking at her, "This is not only about the matter with the Dwarves, is it?"

"Thranduil." She stops, forcing him to stop walking as well. Perhaps if he has to look at her, he will actually listen to her when she speaks. "No, it is not only the matter of you closing our borders against our closest allies when they needed us the most. That is just a symptom of the real problem."

He looks at her finally, his eyes like chips of broken glass. "Then what would you say is the "real" problem?"

"I do not know you anymore, and you do not know me either. You've changed, Thranduil, and not for the better. The Greenwood has fallen into darkness and corruption and I fear that it has had an effect on us."

"Superstitious nonsense."

"Is it? You and I have ruled this forest for thousands of years. Do you think it so farfetched that we may be shaped by the magic of the forest just as it is shaped by ours?"

"I have not changed."

"Have you not? The man I married would not have turned away those in need. I fear that if I stay, I too will lose the ability to feel compassion."

His mask breaks momentarily and she sees the grief hiding behind his eyes. "You could never lose that, my love. Ever have you been the one to remind me of compassion."

She steps toward him and cups her hands around the sides of his face, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "I am so sorry that I must leave."

He closes his eyes, his eyelashes sooty against the pale porcelain of his skin. "I still do not understand why you feel that you must leave me."

"In time, you will see." She stretches herself on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his lips. She realizes suddenly that she cannot remember the last time that they kissed. "And when you do come to understand, know that I will be waiting for you. I love you."

He tilts his head slightly to the side as he bows his head and it is such a _Thranduil_ gesture that her resolve almost breaks. "As I love you. Safe journeys, my lady of the roses."

For long minutes after he returns to the palace, she fights the urge to chase after him and tell him that she has changed her mind. Firming her resolve, she brushes the tears from her cheeks and tells herself again that this is the right decision. Better to leave now than to lose herself and her love for Thranduil to anger and bitterness.

Someday she will see her husband again. She fears that it will be many long years before that day comes to pass.

But that day will come. Of that she has no doubt.

***

The woodsmen tell stories of an immense wall of rose bushes with thorns long enough to pierce a man's heart. They say that it lies hidden in a part of the forest that can only be found by those who are not searching for it. 

The villagers say that at the heart of the forest there is a castle within an enchanted wall of roses where a beautiful Princess waits for her one true love to find her and awaken her from an enchanted sleep. 

The poets say that she is the living Heart of the Forest and her lost love is the Wild Huntsman, who rides a primeval stag through the forest night after night as he searches endlessly for her.

And some say that he has already found her, that the King and Queen of the forest live in eternal bliss within their enchanted wall of roses.

The world may change around them as the Ages rise and fall, but hidden in their enchanted land the heart and soul of the forest live on forever.


End file.
